It seems a small town in Iowa has a problem. For years they have been harboring people who supplemented their incomes by robbing banks. Those people have been in the town sometimes for years now, raising families, building homes, etc. But they were still bank robbers. And the kept violating the laws against robbing banks, year after year.

Recently there was a big Federal raid on this town. A lot of the bank robbers were arrested and taken away. Many of their spouses, children etc. fled to a nearby church, claiming sanctuary after the violations they had committed.

Now the town is having a really tough time. Many of the people who had worked there are gone. They are all sad and desperate, wondering what will become of them.

Even after what has happened to them, they still can't seem to get it: If you violate the laws of this country, you are risking arrest and jail time, and resulting LONG periods where you can't help your family, see your friends, etc. They knew that when they started robbing banks, but kept doing it anyway. Now their friends and families are devastated.

I certainly sympathize with them. But what can we do? They violated the laws, they knew what they were doing at the time and what the results might be, and now they've been busted. I don't see any way out, other than the spouses and children living a hard life brought on by their bank-robbing kin and the punishment they got and deserved. Maybe their kin should have chosen less illegal ways to live?

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The above story is 100% true, except for one thing: The laws they chose to violate, weren't laws against bank robbing, they were laws against entering the country without visas, background checks, etc. But it's a distinction without a difference: They violated some pretty important laws, they tried to build families, lives etc. under the shadow of their violations, they got busted, and now they're wailing about how much trouble they all have.

My reaction remains the same: They violated the laws, they knew what they were doing at the time and what the results might be, now they've been busted. And by their actions they've brought a whole lot of grief to their friends, families, neighbors, etc.

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http://apnews.myway.com/article/20080816/D92JGJ8G2.html

A small town struggles after immigration raid

Aug 16, 1:05 PM (ET)

By MONICA RHOR

POSTVILLE, Iowa (AP) - A vague unease whispered through this tiny town in northeastern Iowa, where the rolling hills are a study in vivid colors - red barns, white clapboard houses, and vibrant green cornfields plowed with almost architectural precision.

It drifted through Postville's downtown, where restaurants serving tamales share three short blocks with El Vaquero clothing store, a kosher food market and the Spice-N-Ice Liquor and Redemption store.

It nagged at Irma Rucal that Monday morning after Mother's Day weekend, as the Guatemalan immigrant worked her regular shift salting chickens at Agriprocessors, the world's largest kosher meatpacking plant and Postville's biggest employer.

Then, just after 10 a.m., that insistent murmur burst to the surface with a frantic shout:"La Migra! Salvese el que pueda!" Immigration! Save yourself if you can.

The bulk of the plant's 900 workers - mostly Guatemalan and Mexican immigrants - dashed out doors, through hallways and into corners, trying to escape federal agents conducting what would be the largest immigration raid in U.S. history.

Outside the plant, Postville Mayor Robert Penrod, alerted just before the raid, gasped at the sight of helicopters, buses, vans and armed immigration agents.

"Oh my God, we have a big problem here," Penrod thought, then cursed softly to himself.

A few blocks away, at St. Bridget's Catholic Church, the sanctuary quickly overflowed with the terrified children and spouses of detained workers. They lined the simple wooden pews, and prayed at an altar decorated with an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, Mexico's patron saint.

For years, even decades, these Mexican and Guatemalan families had called Postville home. Here, in a place first settled by German and Norwegian Lutherans and Irish Catholics more than 150 years ago, Hispanic immigrants were raising children, buying houses, building businesses.

Like the Hasidic Jews who came to the town in 1987 to open the meatpacking plant, and the Eastern Europeans who made up the first band of workers there, the influx of Guatemalans and Mexicans had both buffeted and bolstered this quiet community - until it reached a new cultural equilibrium.

In time, the newcomers became part of the fabric of Postville, which proudly bills itself as "Hometown to the World." Now, they were clustered in hiding or being herded away in handcuffs by immigration agents.

Officials of Immigration and Customs Enforcement said they should not be faulted for carrying out the law and guarding against identity theft. And yet Sister Mary McCauley, the pastoral administrator at St. Bridget's, said the lament of one longtime resident, surveying the chaos unleashed by the raid, summed up the thoughts of many:

"Sister, a real terrible thing has happened to our town."

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It was as if a tornado had whipped through the town or a flood had swallowed up houses. A disaster. Man-made, but a disaster all the same. Three months after the raid, that's how many in Postville describe the events of May 12.

Lives disrupted. People pushed out of jobs and homes. Children separated from parents. Businesses verging towards collapse.

And as in any small town swept by disaster, the community quickly banded together to help the victims.

In the days following the raid, donations of food, clothing and money poured into St. Bridget's, which became a sanctuary to nearly 400 immigrants, and to the local food pantry, flocked by families in need.

Red ribbons, symbolizing support for the detained workers, still flutter from lamp posts and tree trunks. A sign on one front lawn near the Agriprocessors plant declares: "Immigrants Welcome. Bienvenidos."

"We've got a lot of people here who need help. We can't just throw them out on the street," said the silver-haired mayor. "They're our family. They've made their homes here, had jobs here, raised families here."

As with a disaster, the initial mobilization has been followed by shifting emotions - quiet anger at the federal government's actions; outrage at allegations of abusive working conditions at the plant; and above all, worry.

The entire town seems weighed down by worry and a bone-deep weariness these days.